


Another Day

by Thysanotus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drabble, Slytherin, The Quidditch Pitch: Slytherin Common Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-11-13
Updated: 2005-11-13
Packaged: 2018-10-27 07:31:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10804659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thysanotus/pseuds/Thysanotus
Summary: Three Slytherin's what could happen?





	Another Day

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes: The seventh of 22 ficlets, written for [](http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=shikishi)[](http://www.livejournal.com/users/shikishi/)**shikishi**. She requested _Theodore/Blaise, knife, fire, ash, empty, and kettle._ I'm sorry, Kishi, I couldn't quite get a kettle in. D:  


* * *

Blaise wrenches his arm cruelly, and Theodore stifles the moan that rises to his lips. They are outside the Potions classroom, and Blaise is half-hard already. Theodore can feel him grinding into his hip.  
  
Draco watches them, eyes half-lidded as he leans idly against the wall, stone cool and solid between his shoulder blades. Slapping away Blaise’s hands, Theodore feels exposed, naked, as though those half-lidded eyes can see his crawling soul.  
  
Draco raises a languid eyebrow in his direction. Of course he knows what’s happening. Rough edged groans and liquid sliding in the middle of the night are not exactly discreet. As they file into Potions, Blaise manages to “accidentally” bump into Theodore again, hard flesh nudging his thigh.  
  
Theodore swallows hard, stumbling awkwardly into his seat next to Millicent and earning himself an odd glance from Pansy. He stars at his hands, spread on the roughened grain of the desk. They are pale, fingernails chewed to the quick as he clutches to solid reality, stomach churning from Blaise’s teasing.  
  
Draco is looking at him when he darts a glance upwards, seconds later. He sees pale blonde fringed through the darker curtain of his eyelashes. Blaise pokes him with his quill, and Theodore jerks, elbowing Millicent in her well-fleshed ribs. She doesn’t pause, continuing to mince snapdragon leaves to an even consistency with one hand, but twists Theodore’s ear painfully with the other.  
  
Blaise cannot restrain himself at the sight. He is the only person allowed to mistreat Theodore, and he launches himself at Millicent, and she drops her knife, staggering awkwardly backwards. Draco chuckles into his cauldron. Blaise is pinned to the floor, Millicent leaning over him, her breath hot in his mouth.  
  
Quiet footsteps behind them send the pair scurrying to their feet, the glare on Professor Snape’s face enough to quell any lingering malice. “I will see you both after class,” he snaps, stalking towards the other side of the classroom where the Gryffindors have been foolish enough to stop work and stand gaping, wide-eyed and open-mouthed.  
  
Blaise returns to his seat, silently brushing dirt from his knees. Draco trails a lingering hand over the front of Blaise’s robes. “You missed a spot,” he offers idly, fingers still stroking Blaise under the desk. As Blaise’s fingernails bend in the wood, he is grateful for black robes.  
  
The teasing touches continue throughout the lesson, until Draco rises, brushing his hands fastidiously against his robes. “Don’t forget, Professor Snape wants to see you,” he smirks, leaving for Transfigurations with Pansy.  
  
Blaise can’t seem to swallow, his throat tightening as he walks towards the door of Snape’s office. He is vaguely aware of Millicent’s bulk at his side, the warmth exuded from her a relief in the chill of the dungeons.  
  
Before either of them has a chance to knock, the door swings open sharply and Snape calls “Enter,” from within. Blaise takes a deep breath, the movement of his diaphragm steady and controlled, unlike the wavering nameless fear he cannot pin down.  
  
He can feel the tremors moving through Millicent as she stands on his left and Professor Snape stalks around them, the malevolent gleam in his eyes the only sign of emotion.  
  
“Brawling like Gryffindors,” he growls. “You should be ashamed of yourselves. It is disrespectful to your lessons, to your housemates, to yourselves, but most of all, it is disrespectful to your house to been seen behaving like common Mudbloods.”  
  
Silence descends over the room once more as Snape resumes his ever-decreasing circles around them. Blaise bites at his lower lip to stop it from trembling.  
  
Finally, Professor Snape sighs behind them. “Go on,” he says. “You’d better get to Transfiguration.” Scrawling a note in his jagged handwriting, he passes it to Blaise. “Give this to Professor McGonagall. She’ll want to know why you’re late.” He turns, moving back behind his desk. “Oh,” he adds. “I’ll be seeing you both for detention later tonight. Be here at 10 o’clock sharp.”  
  
Theodore looks up as Blaise slinks into the Transfigurations classroom, handing the note to McGonagall with a sneer. As Blaise slips into the seat next to him, he breathes out, words carried like leaves in a current. “How was it?” Blaise shrugs, writes across the parchment in front of him. _Detention tonight. 10pm. With Millicent._ , and Theodore winces in sympathy.  
  
A shadow falls across the page, McGonagall’s lips twisting. “Be careful, Mr Zabini, or it’ll be detention for tomorrow night as well.” She stalks off towards Neville, who is attempting to transform a raven into a kettle. His raven is whistling, but is still hopping around with feathers and a beak.  
  
\--  
  
At ten o’clock, Blaise hurries towards Snape’s office. Out of breath, and panting, he slips in the doorway as the clock behind the Professor’s desk begins to chime.  
  
Millicent is already there, standing stolidly, legs apart, hands folded behind her back. Snape raises an eyebrow.  
  
“Ah, Mr Zabini. So pleased you decided to grace us with your presence.” His voice is rough and irritated, a muscle twitching under his left eye.  
  
He sets them to cleaning the ash out from the fires under the cauldrons in the Potions classroom. Blaise soon tires of the gritty feeling on his hands, the fine powder under his nails and chalky on his teeth.  
  
\--  
  
The common room is empty when he returns from detention, the fire a gritty pile of ash in the hearth. Blaise shivers up the stairs to his dorm, skipping the trick steps out of habit.  
  
Upstairs, the curtains around his bed are drawn, Theodore nuzzling his pillow in his sleep. Blaise rolls his eyes, slipping out of his uniform and into bed next to the other boy, wrapping his arms around languid heat.


End file.
